


All These Things That I've Done

by winterlive



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-14
Updated: 2009-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterlive/pseuds/winterlive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate universe where I changed some things.  Which things, exactly, I invite you to figure out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Things That I've Done

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the ending notes for more explicit trigger warnings. Completed for the [donorschoose.org](http://www.donorschoose.org/donors/viewChallenge.html?id=22856&category=107) charity challenge.

In Los Angeles, valet parking is critical. Adam can afford it and always, always uses it, if for no other reason than that they can keep his dumb ass out of court for DUI. But the club he'll be walking into tonight has no such animal and never will, so he pays off his cabbie a couple of blocks away from the door and walks.

This area of town is shit. It's the kind of sex-in-the-alleys, rusted-loading-docks kind of place that's sure to impress the wannabe assholes who come to this club - low level punks that Adam should honestly have outgrown by now. But they worship him, is the thing, and he spent long enough cultivating that idolatry. He deserves to enjoy it for at least a little while longer.

The walk in is the best part. There's no waiting line, no loitering around outside; you're either in or you're out. It's deserted out here, silence hushed around his shoulders and muffling his footsteps, walking along with him. When he gets to the dingy gray door, he lifts a hand and knocks, his silver rings giving the booming sound a sharp shimmer.

There's a half-second pause, and then a voice rattles through the door that's deeper than the knock was. "Well, well, if it isn't His Highness."

The thing swings wide and Adam steps into the shadowed entry with a genuine smile. "Hey, Joe. Where you goin' with that gun in your hand?"

Joe dismisses the password with a wave of his beefy fingers. His face blends into the shadows, save for the glint of a gold stud in the curve of his nose. "I think I know your face by now, Prince. Go on in."

"It looks good on you," Adam says, pointing to the jewelry. "Hot. Didn't I say?"

Joe waves him again, rolling his eyes. Adam laughs and opens the second door, feels the sound wash over his face in a tangible wave. The thumping beat isn't quite his taste, but it's close enough.

He walks straight to the bar, ignoring a dozen hopeful catcalls from the eye candy slithering around on the dance floor. The bartender throws Adam's cosmo together, wearing a harried crease between his eyebrows. "Ten fifty," he says, as though that's anything like what he's charging the thrashing nineteen-year-olds.

"Christ," Adam scowls, digging in his pocket. "You're the worst of us all."

Raoul does not deign to answer, and that's because he's not just the bartender but the owner, and he knows Adam won't be coming here much longer. He likes his regulars, but not when they jump out of his tax bracket.

Adam thumps three bills down on the bar. "Keep 'em comin," he says. "I'll be upstairs."

Raoul lifts an eyebrow as he scoops up the money. "Business?"

"Maybe," Adam says, putting a lofty tease in his tone. Might as well keep the guy happy for now. In truth, Adam just came to network tonight, but that's business, so it counts. He does a circuit of the floor first, nodding at the appropriate people, and then climbs up to work.

The first person he sees is Brad, lounging on a red chaise with a half-full champagne flute in hand. He's holding court, decked out in his Saturday best: red pout and smoky, thick lashes. He notices Adam, because Brad notices everything, and smirks. "Hey, baby," he says, and though it's lost in the cacophony of music and chatter, Adam reads it loud and clear.

Brad's a good time, and a valuable contact if there ever was one, so Adam makes his way past the sequestered couches and dark booths, and leans down to kiss Brad's knuckles. "Cheeks."

"Prince," Brad smirks, flipping a gracious pinky. "What brings you by our humble little gathering tonight? I thought you had more important people to do these days."

"I always have time for you," Adam demurs, already checking out the other faces in the house tonight. "Anything going on?"

"Cad," Brad accuses, rolling his eyes. "Loves me and leaves me. Though I suppose I should have learned to expect that from you by now."

Adam exaggerates his wince for the pretty crowd clustered around Brad's chair. (Disinterested expressions; actually hanging on every word.) "Harsh."

Brad beams at him. "You're so sensitive. Just teasing, I promise." The smile fades into his usual ennui. "There's nothing really going on tonight, anyway. We're just entertaining each other. Oh, they're playing hot potato, though."

Out of habit, Adam brushes a fingertip over his pocket. Sure enough, there's a foreign object in his jacket - feels like a Hot Wheels car. "Well," he says, deliberately casual. "I'm gonna go circulate. See if anybody's cute."

"So not," Brad says, rolling his eyes.

Adam bends down to kiss him on the cheek, and plants the toy car in the pocket of the girl sitting next to him. "Do something naughty for me," Adam winks, and then goes to lean against the banister that overlooks the dance floor. It's the best vantage point in the whole club for scanning the crowd.

The floor is made of bodies, all jumping around to the same beat. From up here it's easy to spot the professionals in the crowd - no jerky movements, limber and loose and ready. The others, those who are here as diversions and decoration, they're blind and spastic by comparison. Lucky for them they're beautiful, boys and girls. There are a few that Adam hasn't seen before, and a few that he's seen up close and personal. Some of them look like a good time, but still, nobody's really catching his eye until he looks over at the bar.

He's an average build guy, pretty enough in the face, but what really makes Adam notice is that he's sitting on a stool with his back to the floor. There are a dozen other wallflowers here, a dozen more people pretending to be cooler than they are, and Adam couldn't really say what it is about this one guy in his plain black shirt and his Converse that makes him take notice. Maybe it's the loose set of his shoulders or the imported bottle of beer he's nursing, maybe it's the way his haircut seems purposefully nondescript. It doesn't matter, anyway.

Adam is drawn down the stairs, right to him. He's _interested_ , and he can't remember the last time that happened in this place without it involving at least six figures.

Insinuating himself up against the guy's side, Adam plants his elbows on the glossy black surface of the bar. "Hi," he says, making his voice sultry and slanting a look under his lashes.

The guy's surprise is visible for a long second, making his mouth softer and his fingers relax along the bottle's neck. It's fucking gorgeous. Adam tries to introduce himself, but gets as far as the _I'm_ when he's interrupted. "I know who you are," the guy says, in this voice as deep and dark as the bed of the Mississippi. Adam has long espoused the theory that you can tell a lot about a person from their voice, and if he believed that, he'd think this guy was the most beautiful, breakable thing he'd ever heard of. But then, he knows who Adam is, and in this bar that means a pro.

Adam's fucking entranced.

"Dance with me," he says, not quite asking. Please, he prays, to the God of such things. Please let this one be gay. Bi-curious. Experimental. Anything.

The guy's sharp eyes are intent on Adam's face. He leans in on his elbow, closing about half the distance between them. "You don't even know my name," he says, and there's a warning there. It's nothing blatant, he's not making a point, it's just tucked into his consonants like a gift.

Adam leans in the rest of the way, enough to catch the scent of nothing, no cologne at all, as he whispers right into the guy's ear. "Not yet," he says, and takes his hand to lead him out onto the floor.

The first time Adam dragged a boy out to the middle of the floor here, everybody stared. Like, _everybody_ , down to the club staff. Adam had danced on, unapologetically fitting his hips to his partner's and throwing belligerent glances out at the people around them. After a minute, people just kept on going.

These days you can dance with whoever you want, which is part of why Adam still comes here. He's thankful for it now, because his new friend here seems skittish. Adam's not convinced that anybody else would notice, given how easily the guy slides into the beat, but he feels so attuned to that body, the way it moves, dying for more info. There's a tension under the skin that Adam can feel on his fingers as they start to move together. He's tempted to put it down to the guy being too straight, not used to the size and strength of Adam's hands on his waist, his arm. But no, there's something else.

Adam wonders if it'll still be there when they're fucking in his bed tonight. Because that will _definitely_ be happening.

He closes the comfortable distance between them in increments, a little at a time to help the process. It's funny, but he doesn't seem to need it. Each time Adam slides closer, the guy adjusts to it and dances on. His energy level is amazing; even though he's not much for moves, he bounces along like somebody wound him up with a key in the back. The best part about watching him is the way he closes his eyes and bites his lip, losing himself in the heavy, throbbing beat.

Adam takes a breath and slips his hand from the waist to the back. Eyes glued to that lost, faraway expression, he draws near enough that their bodies brush all the way from thigh to hip to chest.

Black eyes fly open, gaze slamming into Adam's. He stills under Adam's hands, not dancing anymore. Like he's walking into fire, the guy presses closer and leans up to say something.

Adam cocks his head, dying to know.

"It's Kris," the guy says, just loud enough to be heard. "My name is Kris."

Well. That's disappointing. Adam doesn't show it, but he was kind of hoping for a handle or a pseudonym. The idea that this guy isn't in the business is... well, it raises a bunch of questions, honestly, because Adam's caught quite a few tells over just a few minutes and he'd have laid down a hundred grand that Kris was a player.

He's made out of weird, this guy. As he dances, he presses his face against Adam's shoulder. It's just about the right height, sure, but instead of laying his cheek down for a grind or something, he's facing straight ahead, his forehead on Adam's collarbone. It's nice, with a hand on the back of Kris's neck and their thighs shifting together. It's sexy to have him right there, the thought in the back of Adam's mind that he could push down if he wanted, he could grab Kris and just do whatever. Weird, but sexy.

More than anything, almost more than getting naked, Adam wants Kris to answer some questions. But then the puzzle would be gone, and it'd be no fun getting there anyway.

He lets his mouth brush the curve of Kris's ear and guides one hand up around his own waist. Touch back, he's saying. It's okay.

The weight of Kris's hand is tentative, light, but it stays, and then it becomes a fist in the back of Adam's jacket. He turns his face so his nose is pressed against Adam's neck. "I like this," he says, nearly lost under the roll of bass. "I like to dance like this."

Like he's never danced like this before in his life. Oh, he's fucking fascinating.

"I like _you_ ," Adam counters. "Come get a drink with me."

Kris leans back and looks him straight in the eye. "...I never have more than one a night."

Adam smiles at him. "Of course you don't. But you never danced like this, either."

Kris squints at him suspiciously, and there is no hint of a tease in it. If Brad ever made that face at him, Adam would know a one-liner was on its way, but Kris seems genuinely suspicious that Adam is going to roofie him or something, and then it's gone and he's heading for the bar, leaving Adam to follow him.

Magnetism. Gravity. Centrifugal force.

Adam arrives at the bar and orders another of whatever Kris is having, and Raoul lifts an eyebrow and puts two cosmos on the bar. "I told him I wanted what you had," Kris says, and doesn't even crack a smile.

Adam looks at him out of the corner of one eye. "You know... if you're not a big drinker, one of these might be a little much for you."

Frowning slightly, Kris stares at his martini glass. "Maybe I'd better not, then. I have to think tonight."

Adam laughs. "That's debatable."

The clear, blunt look he gets is not what he was expecting. "Is that so?" Kris asks, and for a second Adam would swear that he knows exactly what he's talking about.

He puts back half his cosmo in one shot and puts it back on the bar so he can lean in next to Kris's ear. "Just drink half, then. It'll loosen you up, but still let you... appreciate what's going on around you." It's a pretty speech, and prettier when Adam tucks his thumb into Kris's belt, just at the small of his back where it's getting slick from the heat in here. "A compromise," he coaxes, light and easy.

Kris is still for a long second, thinking it over. Adam takes a chance and draws his thumbnail up the soft skin at his spine, just as light as lifting a wallet. When Kris turns his face up again, his jaw has a determined set that gives him all the right shadows to make him beautiful. "I think," he says, placing an open hand flat against Adam's chest, "that you should take me to your house now." He leans in, his thigh brushing against Adam's, and tilts his head forward shyly. "For... you know."

Adam's eyebrows shoot right up into his hairline, and he can't actually talk for a second or two. Then he grabs Kris by the wrist and starts heading for the door. "Tell Sunshine I left," he shouts over his shoulder.

Somebody'll do it.

At the coat check, Kris doesn't have anything. He does, as it turns out, have car keys, and that's good because it means less waiting. But Adam finds the toy car in his pocket again just as they're going out the door, and has to take the three seconds to plant it in the dangling hood of a kid coming inside. He has a reputation, after all.

"Sorry," he says, turning back to Kris. "Just a game they play."

Kris shrugs amiably, a half smile on his face. Adam has to remember that he's crazy and interesting, because in that moment it's like Adam's eyes just want to slide right off him. Boring. Regular. Ordinary. "Let's go find your car," Adam says. Hands in his pockets, Kris turns to walk down the street. He could be anybody on any street - unassuming, head ducked down so he doesn't look anyone in the eye. If Adam hadn't seen him inside, in that frame of reference, he might have never even noticed him.

Either Kris is just innately invisible, or he's the most gifted physical liar Adam's ever seen.

The car is not a surprise, given that; a simple black sedan, new and shiny without being ostentatious. Not remarkable in any way. Kris pushes a button on his keychain, and the doors click open without beeping. Kris takes a half a step away, turns like he's going to the driver's side door. Adam catches his shoulder and turns him, backing him up against the car. "Just where do you think you're going?" he asks, using his hips to pin Kris there. It's supposed to be hot, a tease, like you're supposed to do in hookups. In fact, it's so textbook that Adam might be losing interest.

And then Kris looks at him for a split second like this is about to turn into a serious fucking _situation_ , a tight readiness in his body that can't be mistaken for anything other than a guy about to punch you in the face if you so much as breathe wrong. It's especially clear when it falls away, and Kris's attitude sort of collapses in on himself. He brushes his hands up high on Adam's hips. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, eyes wide. "I didn't... I haven't really done this. Before. I don't know how it's supposed to, um, work."

Adam hooks a hand behind his collar and settles against him. Nothing impressive under his hip yet, but that'll change. "Well," he says lightly. "If it's work, you're doing it wrong. Tell you that for free."

Kris smiles, sharp and not quite right. "True."

"Kiss me," Adam suggests, and leans close.

Kris is fast and soft about it, like he needs to get it out of the way. His mouth is still and closed, his hands curled in Adam's jacket and holding on just a little too tightly. He's affected, Adam can tell by the hitch in his breath, and coaxes that reaction along so carefully. He presses Kris against the side of his car, slides a knee between his and coaxes that surprisingly lush bottom lip between his teeth so he can suck at it. Adam is gentle, careful and kind, because he wants what's underneath.

When they finally break apart, Kris is panting. "I," he huffs, resting his head against Adam's shoulder. "I don't know if I should trust you."

Adam pushes his thigh between Kris's with firm, steady pressure. "I think you should," he says right into Kris's ear, soft and whispering, using his entire vocal trick bag. "Maybe I'm exactly who you should trust, because after tonight, you never have to see me again."

Kris leans back abruptly, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He looks like some combination of awe and horror.

"If you don't want," Adam amends quickly, smoothing it out with a smile and a soft touch to Kris's face. "Don't worry, I'm not usually a one-night-stand kind of guy, but you were too fucking tempting."

The wide-eyed look fades away, replaced by curiosity and maybe a little suspicion. It makes no sense, but Adam doesn't care; he takes the opportunity to kiss Kris again. It's nice for a second, and then Kris nudges Adam back. "We should go," he says, and absently rubs his swollen bottom lip. "I mean, if you still want."

"Oh, I want," Adam assures him, and drops down into the passenger seat.

Adam lives in a far different part of town than this, so they're driving for about twenty minutes. Kris seems tense, driving like there's a cop on his back bumper. Once he seems like he's going to say something, then shuts his mouth on it; Adam reaches over and rubs a hand over his thigh, trying to soothe him. It seems to make Kris close up even tighter, but the look he flicks at Adam under his lashes is ten kinds of good. Adam considers it for a second, then rests his hand on his own thigh instead, high up and spread wide.

He watches Kris sneak glances at it for the rest of the drive, and can't keep the smirk off his face. This could be the best score he's had at that fucking club since the Weisman Warhols.

They pull up outside his loft. Kris peers around curiously. "No doorman? No valet?"

"We forego the lesser accoutrements in favor of anonymity," Adam says, waving a hand. "There are only three people in the building anyway."

They go inside and Adam punches the button by the elevator. Kris is waiting so patiently and politely, his hair and shirt just so. He begs to be rumpled up, just standing there. There's a soft ping, the elevator doors open, and Adam pushes Kris inside without any ceremony. He manages to hit the button for the top floor before shoving Kris against the wall and kissing him deep and slow.

He's so tense at first, fist in Adam's shirt like he's going to shove him away, put a stop to it all. But as they fit together, as their hips line up and their breaths fall into rhythm, that fist uncurls like a flower. When Kris presses his open hand to Adam's chest just to touch him, it's victory.

The elevator doors open on a ping, and Adam sighs. He pulls away, kisses getting shorter. "Have to go. Shut off. Security."

Kris's blush is almost painful to leave, but Adam manages to get to the keypad and enter the right sequence. He keeps his body between it and Kris out of habit - he's not _stupid_.

When he's done, he turns around to find Kris taking in the loft - hardwood, wine-colored walls, modern black furniture and art in every corner. Wide open floor plan, hardly any walls except for the bed, baths and laundry, and twenty foot ceilings. He's worked goddamn hard for this place, and Kris's interest is satisfying. "Nice, huh?" he asks.

"Very," Kris agrees. "Lots of space. I hate being crowded in by the decor."

Up until just now, Adam wasn't sure Kris was Southern, but the wrongness of _day core_ , just there, was more than enough confirmation.

You can't help your kinks.

Adam gets in behind him, wraps his arms around that slender waist and whispers against the curve of an ear. "Does that accent get stronger when you get turned on? Because if it does, you know I can't be held responsible."

Kris's voice is barely there. "I don't really know."

"Let's find out," Adam suggests, edging his hand down.

Kris tenses under his touch, still and breathless. It's hot for no reason Adam can figure - he's never gone for the inexperienced, or for straights. But this guy, this mystery, every hitch and shiver says something new. He doesn't _act_ like a straight guy, there's no posturing or veiled assumptions. Kris just takes it - terrified, for sure, but it's almost like...

Adam coasts his palm over the growing swell in Kris's pants, feels the shuddering exhale against his chest. "Tell me something," he murmurs, letting his lips brush skin. "Anybody ever touched you here? I mean, _anybody_?"

Slowly, impossibly, Kris shakes his head _no_.

"You're too much," Adam praises, and cups his hand as he allows himself to take the first soft and gentle taste off Kris's neck. "You can stop me any time. If you don't like it."

"I. Oh." Kris sounds like he's been fucked hard for hours, hoarse and hollow. They haven't even started. "Oh, God," he groans. " _Adam_."

The sound of his name, slurred and gorgeous, is the hottest thing Adam's heard in weeks, months, maybe more - for about two seconds. Then his brain catches up.

"Wait, how the fuck do you know my name?"

Kris freezes, and then in a flash Adam's flat on his back with his breath knocked clean from his chest. Kris's knees slam down on his shoulders, pinning him to the floor, and there's a slick shine of silver as Kris pulls something from the vicinity of his ankle. It's too fast to follow, a blur in the air.

Adam fights for breath, and when he manages to draw one he feels the sharp scrape of a razor tight against his throat. He looks up at Kris, freaking the fuck _out_ , and is met with the calmest, most commanding face he's ever seen. He's been questioned by the FBI and they were _screaming fairy queens_ by comparison.

"Don't move," Kris instructs at a whisper. "You move, you die."

"Okay," Adam croaks, and swallows to clear his throat, keeping his body still. He tries again, smoother this time: "Okay, Kris."

One time, Adam did some work for this team of Israeli militants. They were all insane, they'd been doing it all their lives, and Adam didn't want to think of the things they'd seen, let alone done. But they were fighting off this truly vile PLO group and Adam was going through an ethical phase, so he did their jobs and funnelled them a fair cut of the profits for about six months. The look in Kris's eyes right now is the same one that came out of a computer screen at him from across an ocean: a different fucking creature than all us humans. Kris is too young to have a look like that, though now that Adam's looking he can spy a scar on the jaw there, and more under his collar.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Barely moving, hunched right over Adam's head so they're still close enough to kiss, Kris nods, a hairsbreadth motion.

Adam looks up at him, trying to seem as inoffensive as possible. "Somebody paid you, right? To kill me. This is a job."

Kris's eyes narrow. "True," he whispers, voice almost nonexistant.

"And," Adam murmurs back, pushing his luck. "It's not your first job like this. This is what you do; you're a professional."

The bare hint of a smile quirks those soft-looking lips. "Yes."

"I knew it. Okay. One more," Adam says, asking again. Kris nods, and Adam licks his lips. "You didn't mean to do this tonight. You were just looking, scouting me out, but I screwed up the plan, right? I saw you, I mean, I _noticed_ you, and I brought you home and now..."

"Now..." Kris echoes, letting his eyes coast over the curves and lines of Adam's face.

"Now it's time, but you can't do it. Because of how I made you feel."

The razor presses harder against his neck, a cold sting. Adam feels something hot trickle down his skin and drip to the floor. "I wouldn't say _can't_ ," Kris whispers.

"Haven't," Adam hurries to clarify, even though talking makes the blade sing along the wound. "Haven't. Yet."

Kris eases back half a breath. "Yet," he agrees, his barely-there voice making Adam need to shiver. He steels himself, not wanting to move even that much. He's betting that his would-be murderer isn't inclined to see shades of gray in that regard.

"Okay," Adam says. "Okay. So tell me. What I can do for you now? I mean. I like living," he says, and the absurdity of that statement in the context of what he's asking is enough to startle a laugh out of him before he gets it under control.

Kris's brow knits as a flush colors his cheeks. "Man, don't you think that'd be a little awkward?"

Adam suddenly finds all of this hysterical. He can feel his sanity shredding as he tries to choke back the laughter, but if that line was in a movie, he'd laugh. It makes sense to fucking laugh.

It pours out of him in a rushing tide, he's giggling on the floor like someone just hit the punchline hard, and Kris eyes him askance as he lifts the razor away and folds it up. It's a long, tortiseshell handled straight razor, probably antique. Adam's got an eye for that kind of thing, and he probably would have noticed sooner if he wasn't still hooting like an idiot.

He tries to breathe, to organize himself into something like a plan of attack. That's important.

Kris touches his face. It's gentle, just his fingertips, and Adam stills for him. He traces Adam's cheeks and nose and lips, and finally brushes them over his eyelids. Adam opens his eyes when the touch stops, and finds Kris rubbing color over the pads of his fingers, watching it smear with an innocent interest.

"It takes a long time to learn how to put on makeup," he says, keeping his voice low. "It's not as easy as you'd think."

"Mm," Kris says, not bothering to look. Adam shuts up, and after a minute, Kris squints at him. "Can you cook?"

"Sure," Adam says easily, even though that's not necessarily the God's honest truth. When someone asks you if you can do the job, you say yes and then figure out how. He's pretty sure he's got food in the house right now, so that's someplace to start. "Anything particular you want?"

The squint gets squintier. "Are you this nice to every guy that tries to kill you?"

From somewhere deep inside, Adam musters some bravado. "Only the cute ones," he says, and allows the corners of his mouth to turn up.

Kris stares at him for another second, then gets up in a smooth motion. He offers his hand to Adam, and Adam takes it because in his limited experience, you want to avoid appearing ungracious to deadly assassins. Once he's up and brushed off, he heads for the kitchen, heart still pumping a mile a minute. "Come on. The food lives in here."

He's just examining his fridge when Kris steps cautiously into the bright lights. Adam watches him out of the corner of his eye - his mind is tempted to use _rabbit_ to describe him, so on edge, all his metaphorical fur standing up. But there's a glint to his eyes that's anything but vegetarian, a readiness in how he stands. He surveys the counters, and Adam catches him assessing the butcher's block, all the knife handles shiny and silver.

"Anything in particular?" Adam asks, hoping to draw his attention. It works; that keen gaze settles along Adam's hands, over his back, with its own kind of weight. Adam braces a hip against the counter. "It's kind of late for dinner, but I have some cheese and fruit. There's a 1998 Pape Clement in there, if you wanted to grab my corkscrew."

Kris snickers. It takes Adam a second to figure out why, and to quit staring at the distressingly cute flash of teeth going on over there, but when he does, he laughs right out loud. "Did I just hear a dirty joke?"

"Not me," Kris says, but he's still grinning. "No way."

Jokes are good. Jokes mean he's loosening up, maybe less likely to commit bloody acts of mayhem. That's pretty much the extent of Adam's plan right now: Get Better Than We Were. Much beyond that is going to have to wait until his brain has come down off the endorphins and adrenaline, so he can stop laughing at everything.

Think, he commands himself. Is getting him drunk smart or stupid?

"Don't know anything about wine," Kris confesses, examining the bottle. Adam double-takes - a second ago that bottle was in the fridge. Kris is _fast_ and _quiet_. "I never drink," he says.

"More than one," Adam fills in, a question in it.

Kris rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "White lie. I don't drink usually, but I had to blend in."

"It's not a regular club," Adam tells him, pulling out food and a big black plate to put it on. He gets to cutting and washing as he talks, and arranges the food in an inexpert but pretty kind of way. "It's a business, with a really distracting front door. You really can't do what we do without cover, and the club... provides. You know?"

"What do you do?" Kris asks.

Adam glances up. "Seriously? No research before you go kill someone?"

Kris shrugs. "There wasn't much in the folder except where to find you."

"Well," Adam huffs. "I'm a professional thief, and a pretty spectacular one. I suspect your employer of being a jealous little bitch, actually."

Kris perches on one of Adam's kitchen chairs, leans his elbows against the table and thinks about it, concentration on his face. "Maybe. He's not a regular, and I only met with him one time."

"You get a name?" Adam asks, sifting through his crap drawer for the corkscrew. Kris lifts an eyebrow but Adam shrugs, putting a wide-eyed, innocent look on his face. "What? You're gonna kill me anyway, probably, right? Who would I tell?"

Kris is quiet for a long second. Adam busies himself with the wine to help himself stay patient; he uncorks, decants, pours, the ritual of it soothing his nerves. He carries everything to the table, thumps down into the chair opposite Kris and bites meaningfully into a slice of apple.

Kris sighs and selects a chunk of Havarti. "He called himself Compass."

That son of a bitch. Adam's never seen Compass's face, but he's easily the most obnoxious hacker in the history of time. Hackers are useful people at any time, but Adam's never learned and never needed to; now and then he'll bring in some muscle, and of course he used to work with Brad. But for Compass, who insists that you can't do _any_ job these days without a hacker, Adam's meteoric rise through the ranks is nothing short of an embarassment. Of course he's the one who took a hit out. It was really just a matter of time before someone did, given the jobs Adam's snaked out from the competition and how he refuses to apologize about it, but of course it's Compass. That unstable egomaniac is a fucking menace to honest thieves everywhere - in this case, literally.

The knowledge that it's Compass who's purchased Kris's services means something in Adam's head, but he can't put a finger on it. For now, he lets it percolate. To Kris, he just nods. "Makes sense. He really doesn't like me."

"Really?" Kris asks, curious. "Usually it's just about money."

"Oh, no," Adam says, allowing himself a tight smile. "This is personal. He's a dick - not to speak ill of your employer," he adds, in case that matters. Kris just waves it away, though, so Adam savages the rest of his apple slice and sits back with his wine to scowl at the ridiculous twist of fate that made him get all hot and bothered over a murderer.

Because that's the bitch of it: even though Kris is here to kill him, is going to spill his dearly beloved blood all over his nice floor later, he's still really cute. Adam's aware that the impulse to keep pursuing makes him, at best, suicidally addicted to thrill-seeking. But at the same time, his instincts have always been his bread and butter; he's been able to trust them when everything else was lying to him, even his senses. Right now they're pushing him forward, and Adam's learned to listen.

"This is my last supper," he says, indicating the spread with a flourish. He looks at Kris's sweet, lying face. "And you are the last boy I'll ever kiss. I think when we're done with this food, you should let me fuck you."

Kris chokes on a grape, coughing and pressing his hand to his chest.

"It's only fair," Adam informs him, warming to his topic. "You're obviously sparing me for a reason but I'm still on my way to the gallows. The way I see it, you owe me and I owe you. Let's settle accounts."

Kris covers his mouth with his fingers, and examines Adam over top of them. After a long moment, he takes them away and clears his throat. "You mean, like... here? Now?"

"Why not?" Adam's feeling expansive, invincible. It's just endorphins, but he always got off on those - you don't pick a job where you have to rappel down elevator shafts if you don't. He leans back in his chair, lifts his chin in challenge and spreads his arms. "I'm right here, baby. But not for long..." He lets it trail off, raises an eyebrow.

In his head, he hears Cassidy's voice. _What in fuck are you doing, Adam? One day this fuck-it-all, daredevil bullshit is going to get you killed, and I won't be able to save you._ That was on a job, two months ago. He didn't listen then, either.

This feels just like doing a job. Adam's heart is thumping so hard against his ribs that it kind of hurts.

Kris stands up, eyes narrowed. He circles the table with catlike precision, incapable of falling or faltering, and touches his fingers to Adam's face. "You know," he says gently, with just a hint of pity. "You're distracting, and... beautiful, in a weird kind of way. Can I say that? But I lied to you, before. I know what you do. It means something that you confessed, it means a lot. But even with that, I can't let you walk away."

"Maybe not," Adam shrugs, faking nonchalance as his mind grinds throught his new information, picking out the important parts. He knows his angle, though, he knows he's got his foot in the door, and he's not backing off. "All I'm saying is that I'm here now, and so are you. I know what you want and I can give it to you." Slowly, so it's clear that he's letting Kris call the shots, Adam takes hold of Kris's wrist and opens the fingers to expose his palm. He presses his lips to the warm skin, licks salt from the creases. "Nobody ever has to know."

Kris's breathing gets minutely heavier. He curls his fingers against Adam's jaw, making sure to only touch in the lightest possible way. Adam listens to the changes as he slides the point of his tongue under the ball of Kris's hand and up the inside of his wrist. Here, there's the faintest human scent - not laundry detergent, not soap, just skin and sweat. It's like unlocking a door, the rush of discovery and success. When Adam's tongue finds the delicate line of a scar, he sucks hard.

There's a tiny sound, for reward; a hitch in the breath, maybe, or a word that didn't quite make it. Adam can't help but look up; Kris's red cheeks and bitten lips, and the way he's watching, obviously _watching_ , that's too much to fucking handle. He jerks on Kris's wrist to get him closer, a sudden, sharp movement.

He's not expecting the way Kris gives under his touch and uses the table to literally run over top of him, his sneakers making him soundless. It all goes so fast that when Kris lands on the other side and keeps pulling, Adam's helpless to do much of anything except fall.

He lands hard on his hip, the chair goes flying, and Kris has him on his back and pinned in the next breath - only this time it's his hands on Adam's shoulders, and he's crouched over Adam's hips like he doesn't quite know if he's allowed to touch down. His eyes are sharp, clear, and he looks like he's wondering whether his next move is a kiss or a finger stab to the throat.

It's hot. Adam knows he's crazy and he doesn't care; it's pushing his fucking buttons. This is a challenge, a gamble, with the highest possible stakes. There's more to it than that, there's something about Kris himself that makes Adam want to get in there, figure him out, take him apart. But he isn't feeling fantastically analytical right now, not with the warmth that's almost pressed against him making him fight not to squirm. "You have to believe me," he whispers, staying exactly where Kris put him and trying with little success to wipe the smile off his face. "I have, like, zero desire to get away from you right now."

Kris squints down at him, and closes the distance. Adam can feel breath against his lips, so close, almost there. He risks lifting a hand to Kris's thigh but he needn't have bothered with encouragement; Kris's tongue touches his lips and Adam's whole body leaps to attention without his input. Kris's voice is soft - "That's good, right?" - but there's this edge in it that makes it seem like he might be goddamn _teasing_ , and there is only so much a man should be asked to bear.

"That's so fucking good," Adam assures him, and slides his hand back and around to pull that compact, dangerous body down.

His stomach is warm and giving, his thighs just the right kind of tight against Adam's hips. He squirms a bit under the hold but he doesn't break free, and Adam interprets this as _yes, please, more._ It's a gamble again, it's like Three Card Monte with the understanding that the wrong card will blow your hand off. But he makes the move, slides his hands around to cup that perfect ass and gives his hips a long, rolling cadence.

Kris sighs and sinks down to kiss him. His mouth tastes like grapes, and a 21 at Blackjack, and it's sweet on his lips.

Adam's so hard already, he's like a fucking kid, and he's on his kitchen floor. He tears away from the kiss and leans up to kiss and bite at Kris's throat. "Let me take you to bed," he urges. "Let me get under these clothes. God, I want you."

"You don't even know me," Kris murmurs pleasantly, his hands in Adam's hair; it's not a denial.

"Don't care," Adam murmurs against his throat. He grips harder, hungry for skin. "I will. You tell me more every minute."

Kris laughs. "That's... unusual," he says, and levers himself up. He stands over Adam for a second, peers down at him quizzically. "I can't tell if you're oversexed, or just deeply fucked up."

Adam moves his arms over his head and stretches, feels the anticipation running through him. "Probably a little of both," he smiles, and then folds an arm behind his head. "I really do like the bed, but it wouldn't be the first time I've fucked on the floor."

Kris seems to consider, then wrinkles his nose in distaste and backs up, giving Adam room to stand. He slips away toward the stairs, moving effortless and smooth, irrespective of physics.

Adam follows, and watches him inspect his way through the house. He marks entrance points and barriers, the way any professional would; he'd make a good thief. If Adam could just stop watching the solid curve of shoulders through that shirt, the swell of his perfectly rounded ass under his perfectly beat up jeans, Adam might try to recruit him. But as it stands, his blood's pounding in his ears and his fingers itch to get under what he sees, to get started.

Mustn't spook the killer virgin with shop talk.

Kris opens the door to Adam's room. The sight is wildly erotic; way too much, way too fast. Just his fingers on the doorknob, the fade of his fingerprints on brass, and Adam's dying to suck them, find the calluses with his tongue.

He's probably got a trigger callus. If he uses guns. God, what there might be under the ordinary-boy clothes, behind the brown eyes and easy smile - Adam can't contain himself. He reaches out.

Kris catches his wrist before he even feels the hint of fabric on his fingertips. It's fast, it's like reaching into a whirlwind; Adam feels the bed slam into his knees and falls down onto it before he even figures out how Kris turned him. He's laughing when he figures out what happened, even though he's going to bruise.

"You're so _weird_ ," Kris says, and climbs onto the bed to straddle Adam's thighs. Quick fingers go to work on his shirt, tugging up without ever touching.

Once he's over the surprise, Adam helps, lifting his shoulders and pulling off fabric and necklaces. He tosses the whole thing off the edge of the bed and shoves his hands up under Kris's shirt. "Fair's fair," he says, his voice sliding down into the sex register. "Gimme."

"I guess if I don't, you'll just steal it," Kris asks, keeping his arms down.

Adam shakes his head, not following. "Just get it off before I have to rip it off you."

Nothing changes about Kris's face, but somehow his expression becomes filthy. "What if I wanted you to rip it?"

"You're not a fucking virgin," Adam growls, angered at the very idea. He pulls at the fabric, straining to keep his fingers from becoming fists. "You're screwing with me."

Kris laughs under his breath, quiet and secret and too wicked for public consumption, and lifts his arms.

As Adam suspected, his chest is honed and tempered, and there's a white latticework of scars that wind around him like ghost ivy. A string of black beads around his neck holds a worn metal pendant that looks like an ancient dog tag. Kris touches Adam's face with his toughened hands, and Adam reluctantly obeys the unspoken command and looks up.

"I'm not lying," Kris says, an obscure kind of pain in his eyes. "You need to be good to me."

It makes Adam's heart trip. It's a moment of reality, dashed into they game they're playing, and he believes it without hesitation. "I will be so fucking good to you," he says, sincere as he knows how to be. "I'll make it good, I swear."

Kris gives him that inscrutable gaze, then leans down. There's an electric hiss along his skin as chest touches chest, as Kris takes a kiss off his lips in delicate bites. Adam forgets and grips those slender hips a little harder than he should, but Kris just gives this curt, breathy groan and opens wider.

Kissing is easy. Licking his lips and drawing out more of those little moans, it's second nature for Adam, who loves kissing like other people love God. No, that part's simple; what's hard is keeping his hands steady as he maps out Kris's back. The bare skin is puckered and lined, and it's more than you'd think, even for a killer. Killers shouldn't get marked up like this, they wouldn't be very fucking good at the job if they did. Adam struggles to keep touching, keep his fingers soft and exciting instead of seeming curious.

Kris grips his hair harder, puts his sweet mouth up next to Adam's ear. "Piece of advice," he whispers.

Adam freezes, another shot of adrenaline chasing his blood around his body.

"Never go to Myanmar," Kris says.

"I'll keep that in mind," Adam tells him, letting his hands come back to rest on Kris's hips, like home base. He's starting to sense the note he needs to strike to get in control of this situation, and it's good. He's going with it. Soon he might even be able to guess what it is. "I'm sorry," he says respectfully, wanting the vulnerability Kris has shown to keep coming. "Did you want me not to touch them?"

Kris thinks about that for a second, nose tickling against Adam's temple. "It didn't feel bad," he decides, and then there's a slow flush of warmth along his skin. His voice goes soft. "That is... if you don't mind them."

Adam nuzzles against Kris's neck, cradling that hard, slender body against his own. "Let me see," he murmurs, and rolls them over. Kris looks good on his bed, of course, and Adam kisses him thoroughly before backing up, urging him over onto his stomach with the gentlest hands.

It takes a long second. It takes patience. But Kris slides onto his belly and allows Adam to climb up between his thighs, to brace his hands on either side and lean down.

"You're just different," Adam says, kissing one thick, faded line across Kris's shoulder. "They're just like tattoos. They don't make you less beautiful, they make you more _you_."

It's artistic bullshit, of course. But it's always gotten Adam through.

It seems to please, at any rate; Kris goes pliable and warm under Adam's mouth and bows his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. The line of it - down from his skull, down his back, the dip and swell of muscle - is gorgeous. He's like a fucking superhero, just the right shadows in just the right places. Adam traces that line with his tongue, and when he reaches Kris's jeans he tries to edge underneath. "Let's get these off," he murmurs, curling his fingers into the waistband.

Kris gets up on an elbow and looks back over his shoulder. "Please don't try to leave," he says, sounding vulnerable. "I _like_ you."

Adam wants to smile and say it's okay, he wants to promise, but that deep, secret voice inside is urging him a different way. What his instincts are telling him to do here seems almost cruel, makes him seem like a jerk - but they've never been wrong. He chokes back the sweet words and pulls a scowl. "You think I'd be here if I didn't like you?" he challenges. "You think because I'm a thief, I'm a slut, too? Like I'd fuck you just to distract you while I planned my getaway?"

Kris blinks at him.

The feeling is becoming more real now, even as Adam says it. He's convincing himself, and it isn't even hard. "I'm sorry, man, but that's fucking offensive. I know this isn't the world's most conventional social circumstance, but if you think I'm that guy, fuck you. You might as well just off me right here because I don't know if I like you anymore."

There's a beat, then two. Adam waits for it.

Then Kris moves, and Adam's face pressed into the duvet and Kris's knee in his back. Flash forward, before he even blinked. There's an arm locked around his neck, and even though he's currently comfortable, Adam has no doubt that with only a very little shift of anybody's weight, Kris could snap him in half.

Adam breathes, deep and deliberate. "Go on. Waiting."

"You're crazy," Kris says, sounding confused and irritated.

"No. Well, maybe, but I'm sure not like anybody else, and no offense, but the sooner you learn that, the better. Now, I'm not gonna try to escape, so let me up."

It takes a moment, but he unwinds his arm and backs up to crouch over Adam's legs. When Adam flips to look, Kris's face is wary and tight. The lamp over the bed is hitting him just right to hide his eyes in shadows. It's more honest, to have him looking like the dangerous thing he is; it's better. Adam reaches out to touch his face and he tenses all over.

"Easy," Adam says, keeping his voice low and soft. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

"You couldn't," Kris scoffs, or tries to. His voice has the right tone, but no real power.

That trips his instincts again; he ignores the challenge and reaches for Kris's jaw again, nice and slow. "This is supposed to feel good. You're supposed to have fun."

"What if I don't want to have fun," Kris says, and pushes Adam's hand aside. He pulls open Adam's belt with one fast move, which takes Adam completely by surprise. When Kris drops out of his crouch to kneel astride Adam's hips, reaches in and grips his cock, it's a downright shock.

Adam gasps, falls back on his elbows as the sudden rush of pleasure overwhelms his clever plans. "Yeah," he struggles to say. "That's okay. If you want, we can, we can do whatever, ohhh, fuck."

Kris's face is still in shadow, but Adam can see him lick his lips. "Is that good?" comes the breathless question, as he twists his fingers and grips harder.

"Mm," Adam hedges, wincing. He leans back into the pillows and puts his fingers on Kris's wrist. "It's better with some lube," he says. "I could show you?"

Kris's hand stutters and he draws away. Off balance. Unsure. Better. "Okay, so, uh. Where is it?"

Adam's mind is kicking in again, and this time the instinct is screaming at him: now, now, do this right now. It all makes sense now, the plan, the end game he's planned out before he even knew he thought of it. This is how it goes, though, Adam knows that, and it's an insane risk. He could die ten ways, if it goes bad. But the win... the win would be monumental. Legendary.

Adam takes a deep, measured breath, and nods toward the nightstand. "Right there. In the drawer. Get the condoms while you're there."

Violence hovers in the air between them, because Kris is looking at Adam with suspicion in the lines around his eyes. He's learned by now to sense the moments that Adam is working him, working the situation. Of course he has. He's a fucking professional.

But Adam holds very still, and eventually Kris crawls over to the drawer and opens it up. He picks up the bottle and sits back on his heels to open it.

The second his eyes flick down to the bottle, Adam lunges at him.

It's work to hold him. Things fall over and smash on the carpet, the light goes out. Kris fights like a demon even after Adam wrestles him down to the bed, and he's not afraid to claw and bite. Adam's bleeding from three places before Kris goes still. "What do you want?" he asks, voice taut and terrifying.

Adam meets his eyes and tells the truth. "I want _you_."

"No," Kris says, and starts to struggle again. Adam holds him tighter, kisses his temple, and keeps his head far enough away that his jugular's protected. It takes longer this time; they're sweating and sliding against each other before Kris gives up and snarls at him. "Let me go!"

"Why, are you gonna leave?" Adam challenges, his voice rising. "Are you gonna kill me?"

Kris grits his teeth and says nothing.

Adam scowls at him. "See, that's what I thought. You'll just stay and talk to me until you prove I'm just some scumbag, so you won't feel bad about taking this from me and then killing me. But that's _stupid_. I'm not. You know I'm not, or you suspect, right? So why not take the chance?"

"I can't!" Kris blurts out, sounding surprised and young.

"No, you can," Adam insists. "You can't kill me or you'll never trust anyone enough to let them do this for you. You'll never trust yourself not to kill them halfway through."

Kris stares, wide-eyed.

"Believe me, I know," Adam half-laughs. "It took me years to be able to go to somebody's house and not go straight for the most expensive thing they owned. But you have to try. It's crazy that you, who by the way are sexy as fuck, has never had sex, let alone a boyfriend. Do you even have any friends?"

Shaking his head, Kris breaks Adam's heart.

He dares to ease off on Kris's wrists. "You're so talented. I've seen you checking your routes in here, planning ahead. You do all the right things and you could be making so much money. You could be ready for your retirement score, man, and you don't even have a _friend_. You're killing me, here. You could be so _happy_."

"How do you know I'm not?" Kris mumbles, rubbing a knuckle across one eye.

Adam shakes his head. "Come on. We both know you're not."

A tentative hand settles against Adam's ribs. "But how do you _know_?" he asks, so soft. "We're nothing alike."

"Bullshit," Adam retorts. "We both do the job. That makes us as good as brothers."

Kris scowls. "This isn't brotherhood. There's a way things are supposed to be, and stealing, lying, killing people? That's not it. We're broken, Adam. We don't get a happy ending."

For that moment, the world hovers still around them, listening. The clock doesn't tick, the cars downstairs don't move, and Kris's eyes reflect the steady, unflickering streetlight.

Then, Adam brushes the backs of his knuckles over Kris's cheek. "Nobody ever handed me anything. I worked for everything I have. If I want a happy ending, I'll take it. And I'll steal you, too, Kris. It's who I am. It's who you are, too."

Kris says nothing, but his hand comes to rest on Adam's back.

Softly, slowly, Adam wraps his fingers around Kris's wrist. He can feel the tension, Kris fighting not to tear it away, and leans down to kiss at his neck again, warm and melting. "I'll do it right," he promises, writing it into the skin with his tongue. "You can trust me."

As if the words released something, Adam feels Kris's body relax under his hands. There's still tension, still fear, but Kris is back to being like he was when they walked into the house tonight - unsure, cautious, maybe even eager. Adam's starving for it, a rush of greed in his belly; he takes kisses off Kris's mouth, pulls and kicks at what's left of their clothes until there's nothing between them. His hair is past style at this point, and he has to hook it behind an ear as he makes his way past skin, firm muscle under his tongue. He grazes one nipple with his teeth, and Kris gasps, arches his back. "Sensitive," Adam notes appreciatively.

"Only some places," Kris says, voice tenuous. He knots his hands into the covers.

Adam kisses his belly and then looks up. Kris's eyes glitter back at him in the dark, and Adam wishes there were a light on, but he suspects it's too soon for that. He'll have to make do with touch. "You can hold onto my hair if you want," he says. "I like it."

Kris bites his lip, and then carefully pushes a hand into Adam's hair.

Adam grins against the soft skin and licks over the rise of a hipbone. He gets a tight, shivering sigh in response; gorgeous. "You're going to love this," Adam says, rubbing his nose against the heated skin. " _Love_ it." With that promise he lifts Kris's dick and feeds it into his mouth one hard, solid inch at a time.

The taste is like a revelation, Kris's own personality stamped all over it. He might try to hide that he's human but Adam can hear the high, strained breathing going on, feel the grit of nails against his skull. The slick taste on his tongue is full of spice and sweet, almost nothing bitter to it, and Adam sucks and licks and memorizes, so when Kris goes to hide again, he'll remember.

"Oh," Kris chokes off, high up in the pillows. He sounds awed, shocked, urgent. "Oh _God_."

Adam streaks his nails down one bared, tender hip, turns his head so he can feel Kris's cock stretch out the side of his cheek. The spit slicks his lips and Kris is groaning under him, and all Adam can think is that anything he wants to do is going to be mind-blowing for him. He lifts away, strokes Kris tight and watches him gasp and claw at the mattress. "You're so fucking hot," Adam tells him with complete honesty. "Are you nervous?"

"Not now," Kris groans, shifting slow and restless.

Adam rubs his thumb under the head and gauges the resulting shudder. It's good, it's hot, and he's getting off on it, which is important. But at the same time, Adam's keenly conscious of his goals, here. He turns the problem over in his mind as he squeezes and strokes, tossing in a contemplative drag of the tongue from time to time just to keep Kris in the game.

The problem is that he doesn't know what'll make Kris flip. He doesn't know why Kris does this to begin with, though he can guess at the catalyst. Being broken in Burma would fuck anybody up, but it's a fair step away from PTSD to professional assassination. He can only assume that Kris was trained somewhere, that he has it to fall back on - maybe while he was captured? Impossible to say. But if he thinks it's all he has going for him, he doesn't need to be told he's good at it. He needs to know he's good at something else, that killing people isn't everything he can do. That he can make a choice. It's a good place to start, anyway.

"Tell me," says Adam, demanding Kris's attention. "Tell me what you want."

Kris's startled, dazed eyes jerk up to his. "I, uh. I don't know," he pants out, squirming under Adam's hand. "This is good."

Adam licks his lips, nice and slow. "But you can have anything. So you need to tell me."

"Um." Kris's voice trembles on the syllable, and he looks away. Adam would bet anything that he's blushing. "I liked before. When you had your, um. Your mouth."

"Want my mouth?" Adam croons, cupping Kris's hips. He puts his lips against the wet skin, brushing them back and forth in a liquid kiss. "Like this?" he asks, looking up along Kris's body.

He can't see the eyes that look back at him, shadowed as they are, but he can feel the weight of their gaze. Kris's hands tighten in his hair, hard knuckles against his skull. "No," Kris breathes, low and quiet. "Not like that."

Adam knows better than to tease. He slides down over Kris again in a long, smooth stroke, taking him deep. It pleases; he can hear the barely-there sounds, the ones Kris can't choke down. They're music to his ears, and he makes encouraging gestures alongside Kris's hips until Kris figures out that he can move them. Once he does, he fucks Adam with growing abandon, and when Adam starts choking and Kris is too far gone to even notice, he thinks it's time to put a stop to it. As gently as possible, Adam forces Kris's hips to the bed and pulls away.

It takes a little time. He twists and pushes under Adam's hands, he makes these sounds that might be growl or whine or something in between. The thrill of his movements travels up Adam's hands; he can feel Kris stopping himself from attacking. There's tension in all his muscles that says he wants to. But the seconds tick by, and he relaxes by increments down into the sheets, breathing deep and shaky.

"You all right?" Adam asks.

Kris shifts his knee, firms his grip on the sheet. "I. I think I want some more. If that's all right."

For the millionth time, Adam wishes he had some light. He settles for leaning down to kiss Kris's mouth, laying his hand along that sweet, ordinary face, and tries to sense his mood by touch.

It feels like he's all right. He arches up to meet Adam's kiss with fervor, looping a tentative arm behind Adam's back. He sighs, which is good. He pushes his body closer, which is great. Adam shifts his own hips to line them up, settle his cock into the groove of Kris's hip. "You'll get more," he promises, willing his eyes to adjust. "You'll get everything you want."

"I want," Kris pants, his dick pressing hard against Adam's belly as he rolls his hips. "It's good when you touch me. You should."

"Do you like it?" Adam asks, not needing an answer. He pushes his nose along Kris's neck, behind his ear, mouthing at the hot skin, taking in the subtle changes on his tongue. "Feel good on you?"

"Good," Kris agrees, his nails digging in at the small of Adam's back. It's close to what should be happening here, it's good enough that Adam's tempted to just let it finish like this. It could be enough.

Kris presses a hesitant kiss to Adam's shoulder.

"Oh, that's it," Adam growls, pulling back and yanking open his nightstand drawer. All his stuff is right where it should be; he rips open a condom with his teeth as he tries to manage the lube one-handed. He's in a motherfucking _hurry_ , he's _in_ and he has to take what he came for and close the deal before anybody can stop him.

"Adam," Kris warns, his tentative hand reaching out to make things slow down.

It's too late. Adam's dealt with the necessities and he's slipping slick fingers behind Kris's balls, down low. He lowers his head and kisses, licks. "You loved this," he coaxes. "Don't be scared now. Just trust me."

He's so tense, he's gripping the sheets again and his breathing is shallow. Under Adam's fingers, the muscles are right and hard. "It won't hurt, will it?" The question is perfectly formed, voiced with total seriousness.

Adam rubs his fingers there, firm enough to be felt. "It might hurt a bit," he says, dragging his lips over soft skin. "Just a bit. But after a minute, you won't even notice it. Promise."

Out of the dark, Kris's hand shoots down to grip Adam's free wrist. It's a serious grip, the kind that demands attention, and Adam lifts his face in surprise. Kris has sat up just enough that a slant of blue light from the window has caught him; his whole face is intense and demanding. "Not me, Adam. You."

Adam blinks. "Will it hurt _me_? No. Of course, no."

Kris looks away then, his mouth tight.

"I swear," Adam promises, climbing up to lie down beside him, pull him close. "I don't know why it matters, but I swear to you, it won't hurt me at all."

"I couldn't hurt you," Kris says, almost to himself. He pushes against Adam's chest, clutches him around the waist and holds him, like a stuffed bear.

Adam bites his lip so he won't say anything out loud, and strokes Kris's back. He's won. He's golden, because Kris has gone from assassin to lover and Compass is fucking over. Compass is going _down_.

"Okay," Kris says, laying a tentative kiss against Adam's chest. "Sorry. Can you... try again?"

Adam lets himself smile. "Yeah, baby. Come on, lie back for me."

The slide of his fingers is easier now that Kris is ready; Adam murmurs into his ear to relax, to breathe and don't clench, and Kris obeys just enough to let Adam slip his fingers inside. Of course he's so tight, he's awkward and unsure and he doesn't seem to want to let go of Adam's hair. Adam just murmurs to him, soft and sweet, and tamps down the bone-deep satisfaction that thumps in his belly at watching him twitch and writhe.

"Do it," Kris demands, voice scratched to hell and fingers digging into Adam's shoulder. "Come on, I need. I want." He bites off the words each time.

"What do you need?" Adam asks, daring to tease a little as he slides between Kris's legs, hooks an arm under one of those scarred, strong knees to lift it high. Reaching down, he guides the head of his cock over the slick, grasping little hole. "You want this in you? Need me to fuck you, baby?"

Kris is in no position to answer, tossing his head on the pillow and arching under the touch. Adam smiles, smug in his victory.

And then Kris hooks a heel just behind Adam's knee and hauls back on one of Adam's wrists. He goes sprawling gracelessly, and underneath him Kris snickers. "Oh, you think you're funny!" Adam accuses, lifting himself up on one arm.

"I do, actually." Kris's smile is bright, even in the low light.

He is. He's funny. He's fucking _adorable_. Adam shifts to kiss him, his perfect bow mouth and his heavy jaw and his long neck that begs to be bitten. He's tastes like salt and something else, maybe baking bread. Something good. Adam finds himself genuinely liking Kris, which is... unexpected.

"Really," Kris tells him, coasting his knee along Adam's side, lifting it up. "I think that's enough foreplay, now."

"Dirty mouth," Adam notes, trying to chastise. It sounds more like a compliment. He kisses Kris's mouth again, and reaches down to take his own cock in hand. "Relax for me, now. Breathe, okay?"

Kris bows his head, and Adam fits himself to the tight little space and presses carefully inside.

In an instant, Kris is solid with tension from head to toe.

"Breathe," Adam reminds him, taking Kris's knees and hitching them higher against his chest. "Push against me."

Kris does, a tentative press down; Adam takes it slow, steady, ignores the sweat breaking out on his brow and low on his back. It's tight, it's so fucking tight, and the urge to snap his hips is almost impossible to resist, but Adam manages. He bites his lip and he digs his fingers into Kris's thighs, and he manages.

Kris makes choked-off sounds, sounds Adam can only hear because he's so close. He moves his hips in careful, tentative waves, and as the sounds start to lengthen, so do the movements. After an eternity of Adam trying like hell to be considerate, Kris touches his shoulder. "You can go a little deeper," he breathes, thereby shorting out Adam's higher functions.

Adam goes deeper, and after a minute, he speeds it up, too. His heart is hammering, his body demanding his obedience, and he's only just holding onto the edge of his control. He takes Kris's dick in hand and strokes, feels it getting harder against his palm. "Is it good?" he asks, needing to hear it. "Is it good for you, baby?"

Kris is panting now, his skin getting slick. He pushes into Adam's hand, into Adam's hips, and his fists are knotting and reknotting in the sheets. He's staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide and slack. "It's. I. Oh, God, _Adam._ "

There's his name again, his real name. Adam has to squeeze his eyes shut against the visual, has to stroke harder as his hips start to snap, hard and fast. "Come on," he pants, holding Kris down with his free hand, right over Kris's heart. "Just like this, come on."

Kris's moans climb in pitch, higher and tighter and more desperate. Adam can hear him tossing on the pillows and has to look; Kris's whole body is arched, pushing up. His cock throbs once, twice in Adam's palm, and Adam feels the sudden hard squeeze on his own cock just an instant before he understands what's happening. Kris opens his mouth and shouts so loud, so fucking _loud_ as he comes, and Adam can't fucking take that sound after all this holding back. He puts his head down, he fucks Kris right through it all and into the aftermath, and when he hits his own orgasm it's like running into a brick wall. Suddenly there's nothing, there's just a _stop_ , and he's boneless and twitching and trying not to put all his weight on Kris's shivering body.

It takes a long time to quit happening, actually. They shift and pulse and jerk against each other, panting from deep in their chests. It's so good that Adam doesn't want to move.

Eventually, he peels himself off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, kissing Kris's forehead on the way out. He washes quickly because he wants nothing more than to fall into bed right now, and only remembers at the last second to be a good host and bring a towel with him.

Back in the bedroom, Kris is sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked in the middle of the sheets like a sexy Buddha. He watches Adam cross the floor, his eyes unreadable. Thank God there's light from the bathroom and Adam can see. He comes up to the bedside and holds out the towel. "Thought you might want this."

"Thanks," Kris says, taking the towel and blushing to the roots of his hair.

Adam sits down on the edge of the bed and settles a hand against the back of Kris's neck. "Tell me your troubles," he invites, keeping his voice soft and kind.

Kris sighs, drawing a knee up and resting his chin on it. "I really feel like I shouldn't kill you," he says.

Adam nods. "That's good. I like that."

"You would." A brief smile flashes over Kris's face before it resumes its thoughtful, serious focus. "But if I don't kill you, then my whole... code that I live by, I might as well throw that out the window, because according to it, I should have killed you when we walked into the apartment."

Biting his lip, Adam nods. "Kind of sounds like you already did make an exception."

Kris winces. "No exceptions. That's one of the rules. I broke my code, Adam. No way around it. All there is now is to fix it." He turns and meets Adam's eyes, wide and hopeful in the yellow light from the bathroom door. That light catches in his irises, turning them an eerie, wolfish gold.

Adam insinuates his hand down Kris's spine. "There's another way," he offers. "You could... write a new code. One that makes more sense to you, to the way you know things should be now."

"I want to," Kris confesses, gripping Adam's knee. "I really do. But what about everyone else?"

Adam blinks. "...who?"

"The others," Kris says, blushing again, and this time with shame. "People who died under the code. What about them? If there's a new code, didn't they all die for nothing? How could I live, knowing I killed all those people for no reason? Wouldn't I... wouldn't I just be _evil_?"

Adam touches his face, his deceptive, murderous, sweetly sad face. "Baby. You just make sure everyone who's died fits the new code too. You're not evil. You couldn't be. You just need to figure out the rules, that's all." He draws his thumb over Kris's cheek, along his jaw. He's so fucking beautiful, scars be damned. "I want to help you," Adam says, and finds himself meaning it.

Kris moves, whip-crack fast. Adam's learning to sense it now, and that's how he manages to hold Kris as they kiss, instead of being slammed back into the bed. He runs his hands over Kris's back, accepting the press of lips against his own, the tug of hardened fingers in his hair.

"I guess," Kris says, warm against his mouth. "If you'll help me. I could find something new."

"I know just where to start," Adam smiles. "But first, let's sleep. Everything's clearer in the morning."

Kris nods, settling against him like he could just sleep right on Adam's shoulder. "Okay. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Adam promises, pulling them both down onto the bed.

Tomorrow they'll figure out Kris's new code, who's all right to murder and who isn't. Adam plans to top that list with anybody trying to hurt either of them - Compass's name being first among them. He won't be happy when he finds out Kris has gone off mission, and if he's tried for Adam once, he'll try again. Even if Adam weren't the sort to retaliate, which he absolutely is, it's only prudent to remove the threat.

Of course, this means Adam will have to come up with a code. That'll be new.

He sighs, slides closer and pulls the blanket up over them. "You're lucky I already know how to improvise."

Kris touches Adam's throat, and the razor scrape he left there stings with the salt on his fingers. His voice is like a vinyl record, rough and worn and warm. "I think we're both lucky."

**Author's Note:**

> Fic walks a fine line on issues of consent, sexual violence, power/control, and mental health. I think that covers everything. If I forgot something, let me know and I'll warn for it.


End file.
